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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766630">The Weather Outside Is Frightful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore'>OnMyShore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ensemble Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Snowed In, Twyla's Cafe Tropical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:42:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The citizens of Schitt's Creek find themselves stranded in the Café during a snowstorm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Weather Outside Is Frightful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020">SCFrozenOver2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Prompt:</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>A snow storm comes on suddenly, and whoever was dining at Cafe Tropical is now snowed in and stuck. Who is there and how do they handle it? Does it last more than one night? Sleepover shenanigans, scary stories, snuggling, all sorts of fun is possible. Does Twyla whip out her tarot cards? Do Patrick and Ronnie end up in some competition?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick Brewer is a planner.</p><p>It’s not the reason David loves him - it doesn’t even crack the top ten, if he’s being totally honest - but as a person who’s generally uncomfortable with any type of spontaneity, David has a deep appreciation for his husband’s attention to detail. David maintains that he could be a planner, if he had the attention span for it, but since he doesn’t, he’s glad he married someone who’s not only <em> good </em> at it, but seems to <em> revel </em> in it.</p><p>Because Patrick makes plans. Patrick makes back-up plans. Patrick is the kind of person who likes to consider all his options and take everything into account so nobody ends up getting surprised in a bad way. He’s not someone who loses track of the details. Patrick Brewer is a man of details.</p><p>So when he looks past David’s shoulder in the middle of dinner and says, “Uh-oh,” David’s heart sinks before he twists around in his seat to see the snow swirling around the Café window, so thick it completely obscures the view of the buildings across the street.</p><p>All David can say in response is, “Fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It’s not that the snow is a surprise, not exactly. The local news channel has been reporting the oncoming storm since Monday, and every morning they’d listen to the weather and then Patrick would check his phone and confirm that the forecast matched the one on his apps. (Apps, plural, because if there’s one thing David’s pragmatic husband loves, it’s checking the weather.) And every forecast, for the last five days, has predicted that the storm would blow through late Sunday into Monday morning, which would be <em> very </em> convenient considering the store is usually slow on Sunday afternoons and closed on Mondays, meaning the loss of business would be limited. Sunday into Monday would be ideal - a much better situation than being literally blindsided by the weather on a fucking <em> Friday.  </em></p><p>“Man, that came up fast,” Patrick says, and David whips around to face him.</p><p><em>“Came up fast? </em>You said it wasn’t supposed to snow until Sunday.” David points a fork at him, accusing, like Patrick is single-handedly responsible for the mess outside.</p><p>“Technically, the weather guy said it,” Patrick points out, all wide-eyed deadpan, but David’s not having it.</p><p>“No,” he says. “No, <em> you </em> said it, after you checked the apps. The apps said Sunday, Patrick! Why is it snowing now if the apps said Sunday?”</p><p>“The forecast must have changed,” Patrick says, brow furrowing as he looks out the window again.</p><p>“When?! When did the forecast change?!”</p><p>Patrick gives him a pointed look. “I don’t know, David, I don’t spend all day glued to the weather reports.”</p><p>“Don’t you?” David says, and Patrick narrows his eyes in response. </p><p>Other patrons are starting to take notice of the weather, too. All around the Café, people are starting to signal for their checks and ask for to-go boxes. David looks down at his own half-finished sandwich. He already knows from experience that the Café’s food doesn’t travel well, but Twyla had hired a new cook after George retired, and the quality has slowly been improving. In fact, the only reason they were at the Café at all that night was because Twyla has started a new (and wordy) Chef’s Choice Test Kitchen Friday Night Special in an attempt to revamp the menu. Tonight’s Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich had been surprisingly edible, if a little bit salty - it would probably survive the trip home if he could get it into the oven as soon as they got inside.</p><p>Patrick raises his eyebrows when David signals for the check. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Paying the tab so we can leave,” David tells him. When he turns back around, Patrick is still staring at him, and he blinks and shakes his head. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p>Patrick shakes his own head in response. “I wouldn’t worry about paying just yet, David.”</p><p>Now David’s eyebrows go up. “Are you suggesting a dine and dash? It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sense of urgency, but it feels sort of tacky considering Twyla knows where we live.”</p><p>Patrick gives a little scoff. “No, I was not suggesting we dine and dash. In fact, I don’t think we’re going to be doing much dashing at all right now.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” David asks, even though he’s pretty sure he’s not going to like the answer. When Patrick puts his phone on the table, David rolls his eyes. “Oh, <em> now </em> he checks the apps.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Look.” Patrick points to the screen, but all David can see is a pixelated mess of blue and white.</p><p>“What am I looking at, exactly?” he says, pulling the phone closer.</p><p>“All of that,” Patrick circles the screen with his finger, “is the storm. And that red dot right here-” he jabs his index finger at a spot in the middle, “-is us.”</p><p>“Meaning?” David says, and now he’s just delaying the inevitable.</p><p>“Meaning I think we’re going to have to hunker down here until the worst of the storm passes.”</p><p>“Okay, first of all, I don’t hunker,” David snaps, and Patrick concedes the point with a nod. “And secondly, it hasn’t been snowing <em> that </em> long - we haven’t even been here an hour! For all we know, the roads are fine!”</p><p>“Even if that’s true, I think it’s more about the visibility at this point,” Patrick says and his voice has gotten gentler, like he can sense David’s growing panic and he’s desperately trying not to spook him.</p><p>David throws his hands up. “So we go slow! It’s a short ride!”</p><p>Patrick looks ready to argue, but at that moment, the door bangs open and Stevie hurls herself inside in a rush of wind and snow. She pulls off her red toque and fluffs her hair with her hand, making a beeline for David and Patrick’s booth when she sees them. </p><p>“This snow is <em> bullshit,” </em> she says by way of greeting, pulling off her coat and dragging an empty chair over to drape it across the back. “I almost died three times on the way over, and I’m only coming from the motel.”</p><p>“You drove here? In that?” Patrick gives David a knowing look that David pretends not to see, but he also sounds concerned, like a parent who’s not mad, just disappointed.</p><p>“Yeah.” Stevie shrugs, nudging David to slide over so she can sit down. “What was I going to do, walk? I’m not crazy. I’d get lost and nobody would find my body until the spring thaw.”</p><p>“Okay, this isn’t <em> Little House on the Prairie, </em> you’d definitely trip into a house or something before you froze to death,” David says. “And you said you drove here, and you made it, which means the roads are totally safe and we can make it if we leave now, right?”</p><p>Stevie appears to be thinking about it. “Well, that depends.”</p><p>“On what?”</p><p>“Do you know anyone with a tank?”</p><p>David stares at her, open-mouthed. “Do I know anyone with a <em> tank?” </em></p><p>“Yeah,” Stevie says, nodding. “A tank would probably do pretty well in this. Now, your husband’s crappy car, on the other hand…”</p><p>“Okay,” David snaps, turning his back on her as best he can in the booth’s limited space. So much for friendship and support. He was all set to offer her a ride, too, but now she can fend for herself.</p><p>“So why’d you come here at all if it’s already that bad out?” Patrick asks, frowning.</p><p>Stevie shakes her head. “I was planning on going home but I’m honestly not sure I would have made it, so this is where I stopped.”</p><p>“No, I mean, why didn’t you just stay at the motel for the night?”</p><p>Stevie blinks at him. “There’s no food at the motel.”</p><p>“There’s no food in your apartment, either,” David points out.</p><p>“Guess it’s a good thing I’m here, then.”</p><p>Patrick is squinting out the window. “Where’d you leave your car?”</p><p>“On the sidewalk, probably,” Stevie says, not sounding particularly concerned one way or the other.</p><p>“Oh, Stevie!” Bob chuckles from the next table over, where he’s apparently been eavesdropping. “I hope you get a chance to move it, I’d hate to have to give you a tow!”</p><p>Stevie fixes him with a look. “You’re not going to tow my car, Bob.”</p><p>They stare at each other until Bob drops his gaze and says, “No, I probably won’t.”</p><p>All of this has done nothing to quell David’s panic, and Patrick must be able to tell, because he reaches over and takes David’s hand in his. “I know it’s not ideal, but I think we’re just going to have to wait it out. We’ll let the storm pass, and once the roads are safe, we can go home.”</p><p>David thinks of home, of their cozy little cottage all lit up in the midst of the storm. He thinks of the wood-burning fireplace in the living room, and the bottles of wine in the kitchen, and all the different blankets around the house, because David is a blanket guy and it turns out his husband is, too. He thinks of their king-sized bed, of their down comforter, of the luxury flannel sheets he’d found at a boutique bedding store last week. He and Patrick could have been home by now, wrapped around each other in front of the fire while the wind howled on the other side of the walls.</p><p>Instead, they’re here. At the Café. With <em> Bob. </em></p><p>David sighs. “It appears we have no choice.”</p><p>“That’s the spirit.” Patrick squeezes his hand once before letting go. “It shouldn’t take too long, right? Who’s in charge of clearing the roads, anyway?”</p><p>“Bob,” Stevie says. The three of them look over to Bob’s table, just in time to see him drop a large chunk of meatloaf into his lap. Crestfallen, he grabs a wad of napkins and starts to dab at the mess.</p><p>David groans. “We’re never leaving. We live here now.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Of all the nights for a surprise snowstorm, it had to be the Jazzagals’ monthly Friday night dinner.</p><p>Jocelyn watches the snow continue to fall outside the window, where the Gals have taken over their usual corner. It’s just not great timing, is all, not when she’s left her husband and Little Rollie home all by themselves. It’s not that she doesn’t think Roland is <em> capable </em> of taking care of a small child all by himself, not exactly, she just feels better knowing that there’s back-up if he needs it. And - let’s be honest here - there have definitely been times where he needs it.</p><p>But the snow is already drifting up over the sidewalks and against the door. The sun has long since set, and the combination of the dark and the wind and the snow means anyone would have a heck of a time trying to drive anywhere right now. Even Roland’s new truck is no match for Mother Nature tonight, and they’ve had the snow tires on for <em> weeks. </em></p><p>No, facts are facts. None of them are going anywhere right now. She’s already called home to let Roland know. He didn’t sound particularly worried, and she couldn’t hear Rollie crying in the background, which is probably a good sign. There’s half of a sausage casserole leftover in the fridge, and Roland is a whiz when it comes to the microwave. Her boys will be fine.</p><p>They’ll be fine, she thinks, staring out the window After a second, she turns around and catches Twyla’s eye. If she’s going to be stuck here, she might as well have another glass of wine.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Twyla’s been watching the sky outside the window all day with increasing concern. Sure, it had been bright and sunny when she’d woken up that morning, even if the temperatures had dipped well below freezing, but she hadn’t missed the way the clouds had started to gather not long after the lunch rush ended. She’s no meteorologist, but her mom’s ex-boyfriend had claimed his left elbow could predict the weather (“Pins and needles means it’s going to rain!”), and she’d spent enough time around him to be able to pick up some of the patterns. And by the afternoon, she could tell, without a doubt, that they were in for a big one, and it was going to be there soon.</p><p>Even so, the rapidity with which the storm had blown into town has taken her by surprise. After the third order had been changed to “to go,” Angela had stuck her head out of the kitchen, spatula in hand, and widened her eyes at the onslaught outside before ducking back to the safety of the grill.</p><p>Throughout the Café, patrons are growing restless, anxious to get their food and make the attempt to drive home, and Twyla wants to urge them to stay put. The Café is a little more than half full tonight - there’s plenty of room for everyone, and plenty of food. Why traipse out into that mess if you don’t have to? The snow is only getting worse, and the way Stevie is talking about the roads when she brings a menu over just makes her more nervous. People still seem anxious to leave, but maybe she can find a way to convince them to stay.</p><p>Twyla surveys the shelves as she heads back to the kitchen to put Stevie’s order in. They have plenty of food, yes, but they also have plenty of booze. If they can come up with a Friday night signature dish, maybe they can come up with a signature cocktail to match. People are much more open to suggestion once they’re had a drink.</p><p>She puts on an extra pot of coffee, too. They may be stuck here for a while; there’s no reason for things to get <em> crazy. </em></p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ronnie scowls when her phone buzzes, signaling an incoming text. It’s not for the message itself, but for the situation she finds herself in now. She wouldn’t even be here right now, except that she’d accidentally double-booked herself for tonight, and she’d opted to cancel her date night plans, being that the Jazzagals only met for their Friday night dinner once a month, and she and Vanessa had just seen each other last night. Plus, she reasoned, dinner would probably finish up early enough that some of her evening could be salvaged, meaning she’d have enough time to make both things work.</p><p>Now, though, her plans have been blown to hell, leaving her stuck at the Café with what feels like half the town. (And not her favorite half, she thinks, shooting a look in Brewer’s direction.) It seems like some people are getting ready to leave, or at least make the attempt, but Ronnie knows better than to try and go out in this. She’d probably end up crashing her truck into someone’s living room window.</p><p>“I wouldn’t,” she mutters as one harried couple brushes past her table. They glance at each other and then back at her, but she just lifts her beer for another sip, and they shake their heads before pushing out into the storm in another burst of snow and wind, not unlike the one Stevie had let in just a few minutes before.</p><p>Ronnie’s phone buzzes again. She would groan out loud, except she has a general rule about calling unnecessary attention to herself. She would prefer to call Vanessa directly - she’s never been a huge fan of texting - but there’s nowhere to go within the Café where she won’t be overheard, and taking the call outside isn’t going to happen. And it’s not like there’s much she can say - the situation is clearly out of her hands, and the best - <em> the safest </em>- option is to stay put for now and wait for the storm to pass.</p><p>The Gals are chattering around them. Jocelyn sneaks an extra glance out the window, and Ronnie can guess who she’s been texting over the last few minutes. At least she’s not the only one whose evening has been ruined. Catching Jocelyn’s eye when she turns back around, Ronnie raises her pint glass in a silent toast that Jocelyn returns with her house white. Misery loves company, after all.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Bob is very much aware that Gwen is just on the other side of the room. Gwen is very much trying to pretend she isn’t.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“I have an idea,” Stevie says, after Twyla has stopped off at their table to drop off a tray of mystery drinks. “Since we’re going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future.”</p><p>David grimaces, making a disagreeable sound, but Patrick at least appears to be listening, and one out of two counts as a win.</p><p>“What if we started a drinking game?”</p><p>David perks up a little at her words. He hasn’t touched his drink yet, but he’s been watching Patrick closely as he takes a first sip. Seeing that he mostly avoids a grimace, David raises his own glass cautiously to his lips as he says, “Continue.”</p><p>“It’s a people drinking game,” Stevie says, and she’s met with identical pairs of raised eyebrows, but she presses on. “We make rules based on everyone's weird personal habits, and then we use them to drink. It’s simple.”</p><p>David is starting to look slightly more interested now, if not entirely convinced. Patrick, on the other hand, frowns. “Why am I picturing the Hunger Games?”</p><p>Stevie rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about eating people.”</p><p>Patrick blinks. “That’s not what those books are about.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Stevie says before Patrick can launch into one of his nerd lectures. “We need rules.”</p><p>David waves a dismissive hand at her. “So make some rules.”</p><p>Stevie thinks for a moment. “Like...take a drink every time Ronnie rolls her eyes. Or when Jocelyn clenches her teeth when she smiles. Or Twyla tells a story about her family that she thinks is funny but is mostly just sad.”</p><p>“Take a drink every time we see Bob pining for Gwen,” David adds.</p><p>“And die of alcohol poisoning?” Patrick says.</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>Stevie glares at him. “Stop bringing down the mood with your moping.”</p><p>David gives her an affronted look. “I don’t think it’s my <em> moping </em> that’s bringing down the mood in this place.”</p><p>“That’s what the drinking is for,” Stevie says, taking a demonstrative sip and only wincing a little bit. “A little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you.”</p><p>“Fresh out, sorry.”</p><p>“Okay, hang on, start over,” Patrick says, pulling out his phone. “If we’re going to have rules, we need to write them down.” Glancing around, he adds, “Preferably where no one else can see them.”</p><p>“At least someone’s on board.” Stevie slides out of the booth to sit next to Patrick instead. “It’s nice to know not everyone is opposed to fun.”</p><p>“I don’t know that I’d call it fun,” Patrick says, “but since I left my book at home I guess this is the next best thing.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Twyla’s Café Tropical Drinking Game Rules</b>
</p><p> </p><p>1. Take a drink every time Ronnie rolls her eyes. Take two if she rolls them at Patrick.</p><p> </p><p>(“Is that necessary?” Patrick grumbles</p><p>“Do you want to get drunk tonight or not?” David says. “Write it down.”)</p><p> </p><p>2. Take a drink whenever Twyla shares a weird family story.</p><p> </p><p>3. Take a drink every time Jocelyn does her passive-aggressive murder smile.</p><p> </p><p>4. Take a drink every time Ray mentions one of his businesses. Take two if he talks about his podcast. Take three if he tries to invite you on as a guest.</p><p> </p><p>5. Take a drink every time David complains about something.</p><p> </p><p>(“I don’t think that’s funny,” David says as Patrick adds it to the list.</p><p>“Do you see us laughing?” Stevie replies.)</p><p> </p><p>6. Take a drink every time David and Patrick are gross.</p><p> </p><p>(“That’s a little subjective, isn’t it?” Patrick insists.</p><p>“Your face is subjective,” Stevie says, taking the phone away and typing it in herself.)</p><p> </p><p>7. Take a drink every time Stevie is sarcastic.</p><p> </p><p>(“Okay, now we really will die of alcohol poisoning,” Patrick says.</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean,” Stevie tells him, and David takes a sip.)</p><p> </p><p>8. Take a drink for Bob &amp; Gwen drama - we’ll know it when we see it.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“David!” Twyla says when she comes over to drop off Stevie’s meal. “Are you busy right now?”</p><p>David stares at her before giving an incredulous look around the Café. “What could I possibly be busy with right now?”</p><p>“Great!” She takes a seat in the booth next to him, much to David’s chagrin. Across the table, Stevie and Patrick are trying not to smile as they watch him suffer. “I just had a question for you.”</p><p>David considers this before dipping his head in a sort of nod and saying, “Okay.”</p><p>“Well, it’s more like a favor.”</p><p>His eyes slide to the side and then back. Cautiously this time, he says, “Okay?”</p><p>Twyla smiles, which does nothing to set him at ease. “You know how I bought the Café?”</p><p>He has no idea where this is going. “Yes?”</p><p>“Lately I’ve been thinking about maybe...sprucing the place up a little bit.”</p><p>“If you’re asking if I approve,” David interrupts, “the answer is obviously yes.” He turns to Stevie and Patrick, and they both nod in agreement, though it’s unclear if they agree, they’re being polite because Twyla is there, or they’re making fun of him.</p><p>“Oh!” Twyla exclaims. “Well, that’s great! But what I was <em> actually </em> wondering was whether or not you could help me...I don’t know. Come up with some kind of design plan?”</p><p>David blinks. “Oh,” is all he says. “Well, that could be...I mean...I’m not an interior designer.”</p><p>“No, I know,” Twyla says, a little too quickly for David’s liking if he’s being honest. “I just wasn’t sure who else to ask. I have a cousin who <em> said </em> she was going to school for interior design, but it turns out she was just stalking the Property Brothers. I think she mostly gave it up when the restraining order came through.”</p><p>All three of them take a sip. When the burning in his throat clears, David says, “So you’re asking me to design the inside of the Café?”</p><p>“Well, Ronnie would be doing the actual work, obviously,” Twyla says. “But I don’t really have an eye for this sort of thing, and your store always looks so nice. I figured if anyone could help come up with something great, it would be you.”</p><p>David tries not to preen over the compliments. He does have flawless taste, and it’s nice when it’s appreciated. “Well, I’m sure I could come up with something. What did you have in mind?”</p><p>Twyla’s smile dims a little bit. “I don’t really know, that’s why I’m asking you.”</p><p>“No, I know.” He tries to keep his tone even, the impatience off his face. “But we would need some kind of...jumping off point. Like a color scheme, or a mood board.”</p><p>“Ooh, that sounds fun!” Twyla says. “How do we do that?”</p><p>David opens and closes his mouth once, twice, feeling himself get flustered because Twyla is giving him <em> literally </em> nothing to work with, but then Patrick gives him a soft, “David…” and tilts his head ever so slightly in Twyla’s direction, where she’s still looking at David hopefully. David glances between them and takes a quick breath to compose himself. Patrick is right. Not everyone was gifted with his eye for detail. He basically owes it to this town to help where he can.</p><p>“Okay,” David says. “What if I...put a few photos together for you? You can take a look and see what you like and we can...go from there.” He can see the edges of a modern art-deco theme already starting to take shape in his head. It could be cute, if it’s done right (which it obviously will be).</p><p>“Really? That would be great!” Twyla bounces out of the booth, full smile back and brighter than ever. “Another round of drinks, on the house!”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think that’s…” Patrick says, but he doesn’t get a chance to finish because she’s already gone. He looks at his own half-finished cocktail and sighs.</p><p>David makes sure she’s totally out of earshot before he hisses, “Okay, who asks someone to <em> design an entire restaurant </em> without having <em> any </em> idea what they want it to look like?”</p><p>Stevie and Patrick both raise their eyebrows at him and take a pointed sip.</p><p>“Okay,” David scowls, but raises his own glass to his lips. Rules are rules.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Twyla!” Jocelyn says, feeling the strain in her smile. “How’s everything going?”</p><p>Twyla’s come over to gather up the rest of the dishes from the Jazagals dinner, but now she pauses with a kind but quizzical smile. “Oh! I think everything is going okay. How are you?”</p><p>“Oh, fine, we’re fine. No, we don’t need anything,” she adds, even though Twyla didn’t ask. “I was just thinking...does it seem like maybe people are getting a little restless?”</p><p>“Restless?” Twyla frowns. “Not that I’ve noticed, no, but then, I’ve been pretty busy most of the night, especially since no one can actually leave right now.”</p><p>That feels a like a little bit of a jab, considering Twyla’s spent the evening working behind the counter instead of dining with the group, but Jocelyn chooses to ignore it. She’s trying to make a point.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, that must be so hard. The thing is...I think people might be getting a little bit bored.”</p><p>She’s not wrong. The energy in the room has shifted from anxious, to bored, to tense, and it’s only a few short steps from that to full-blown mutiny, and these quarters are too close for anyone to come to blows this early in the night. Not to mention, it seems like Bob has been attempting to inch his way closer to the group, with all the subtlety of a steamroller, and if she’s going to run interference on Gwen’s behalf all night, she’s going to need a little help, because God knows nobody else is doing it.</p><p>“I just think we might need something for people to do, you know? Something to keep them entertained.”</p><p>Twyla bites her lip, looking concerned. “Maybe the Jazzagals can perform? That 90s boyband medley sounds like it’s pretty close to ready.”</p><p>“Oh no.” Jocelyn shakes her head, her smile tighter than ever. (Distantly, she sees Stevie, David, and Patrick all take a drink at the same time.) That medley is at least three rehearsals away from being close to audience-ready, and that’s if she’s being <em> very </em> generous. “No, I was thinking something more like a game, you know? Like charades!”</p><p>“I’m not playing charades,” Ronnie cuts in, head propped in her hand.</p><p>“Or not!” Jocelyn says, trying not to snap. “But something else, maybe? <em>Anything</em> else?”</p><p>When Twyla doesn’t answer right away, Jocelyn adds, “Are there any games maybe hidden away in the back that we could pull out?”</p><p>“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Twyla puts the tray of dishes down to think. “I know the old owners didn’t like to keep anything like that around - they said they didn’t want to encourage people to just hang around the Café all day.”</p><p>There are plenty of people in town who already hung around the Café all day, encouragement or not, but that’s a conversation for another day. “Do you think you could check? If you’re not too busy, I mean.”</p><p>“Sure! A game sounds like fun.” Twyla picks up her tray with a smile. “If nothing else, I know we probably have a deck of cards laying around somewhere. I know there are plenty of people in town who love poker.”</p><p>“No,” Ronnie snaps, and Jocelyn sees her shoot a glare at Bob. Fair point - Roland’s lost his shirt enough times at that card table - one time even literally. When Twyla looks taken aback, she attempts to soften her expression and adds, “I mean, I think there are probably too many people here for a card game. We need a team activity.”</p><p>“Like charades,” Jocelyn says pointedly, but Ronnie just gives her a look.</p><p>“Let me see what I can find,” Twyla says as she sweeps off with the tray.</p><p>Ronnie watches her go before turning back to Jocelyn as she sips her beer. “You’re gonna single-handedly keep everyone in this place entertained enough to forget they’re trapped here?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Jocelyn says. “We just need to give people something to do so they don’t get cranky.”</p><p>“Some of us are already cranky,” Ronnie mutters.</p><p>Jocelyn would love to respond, but Twyla is already back (and gosh, that was faster than she was expecting). “I found Pictionary cards!”</p><p>Jocelyn blinks, feeling her molars clench together. “Just the cards?”</p><p>“Yeah!” There’s a pause, and then Twyla says, “Oh! We probably need something to draw on, right?”</p><p>“That would be great,” Jocelyn agrees. Ronnie snorts.</p><p>“I’m sure I could round something up.” Twyla gives her a wink and sets the cards down on the table.</p><p>“We don’t have a board,” Jocelyn mutters, but nobody seems to be listening.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>David had already managed to work himself into a state by the time Stevie arrives at the Café, which is absolutely to be expected, but she starts to notice the tension rising in Patrick as the night drags on - and she’s not the only one. David and Patrick seem to feed off each other’s energy, for better or worse, and when one of them is stressed, it definitely lands them on the side of “worse.”</p><p>When Patrick excuses himself to the restroom, David watches him until he’s out of sight and then groans, pulling Patrick’s glass towards him. “Alright, we’re going to have to cut him off soon. Vodka makes him anxious.”</p><p>“Are we sure there’s vodka in here?” Stevie gives her own drink a sniff, but the fumes just burn her nose.</p><p>“There has to be, it has everything else.” He takes a large sip from his husband’s glass and makes a choking sound in his throat. “Only one of us can be a mess tonight, and I got the head start.”</p><p>“Sounds reasonable,” Stevie says with a nod. After a second, they both take a drink.</p><p>“Reasonable is for people who aren’t trapped like animals in the middle of a weather crisis,” David tells her around another wince.</p><p>“At least you’re inside. Stop making it sound like you’re stranded at a bus stop.”</p><p>“This place has the same ambience as a bus stop, except we’re not allowed to leave.”</p><p>Stevie arches her eyebrows and takes another sip as Patrick finally makes his way back to the table. Glancing between the two of them, he says, “Which rule are we drinking to now?”</p><p>“Oh my God, like it even matters,” David snaps. He takes a sip, and Patrick and Stevie follow suit.</p><p>“I need to slow down,” Patrick says when he puts his glass down. “I definitely thought I had more than this when I left.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“So you think it’s fate that brought you here tonight,” Ray says to Bob, who’s been sitting at his table for the past ten minutes under the guise of “wanting some company.” (Ray has also noticed that Bob has been steadily making his way from his table near the back of the Café to the Jazzagals enclave near the front, but he’s far too polite to actually mention it out loud.)</p><p>“Well, think about it! I’m here, Gwen’s here, <em> we can’t leave... </em>I mean - what are the odds?”</p><p>“Well, this is the only restaurant in town, and the storm came in much sooner than expected,” Ray points out, but Bob doesn’t seem interested in the very logical points he’s trying to make. Not everyone can be reasoned with.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ronnie knows Jocelyn had the best of intentions with her suggestion of a game, as Jocelyn usually does, but it doesn’t seem like things are working out quite the way she wanted. The reaction to Pictionary had been tepid at best, made worse when Twyla said she did have any paper but they could use the sidewalk chalkboard to draw and just wipe it down between turns. (David had made a snippy comment about chalk dust, leading Patrick and Stevie to take a drink behind his back.)</p><p>Undeterred, Jocelyn had forged ahead, suggesting they break out into teams of three or four instead of pairs to help the game go faster, and Twyla had volunteered to score, keep time, and wash the chalkboard down between rounds. Jocelyn has also made several pointed comments about participation that Ronnie has been ignoring - she’s not a game person on the best of nights, and this is definitely not what she would call the best of nights. Ray can be the Pictionary cheerleader - Ronnie’s firmly in spectator mode.</p><p>And things are going about as well as she expected.</p><p>“David, you have to go a little faster than that,” Patrick is saying, as David attempts to put way too much detail into his chalk drawing.</p><p>“I’m going as fast as I can,” David snaps. “What’s the point if you can’t even tell what it is?”</p><p>“The round is timed, David, that’s the point! We’re supposed to guess as many as we can before our turn is up!”</p><p>“Well start guessing, then, God!”</p><p>“Time,” Twyla interrupts, looking guilty, and David and Patrick both throw their hands up in annoyance. “No points this round.”</p><p>“Got it, thanks,” David scowls, sitting down in a huff while Twyla cleans the chalkboard. Both he and Patrick cross their arms across their chests.</p><p>“What were you trying to draw?” Stevie says, obviously stirring the pot, and Ronnie snorts to herself.</p><p>David still has the card clenched in his hand, and he unfurls his arms enough to glance down at it. “Cowboy.”</p><p>Stevie blinks. “That’s what that was?”</p><p>“Okay, how would you have done it?”</p><p>“Just do a stick figure, David, it’s fine!” Patrick says, and David rolls his eyes.</p><p>“If I did a stick figure everyone would think it’s one of yours!”</p><p>“We were <em> literally </em> watching you draw it!”</p><p>“Okay, boys, let’s save some of that energy for your next turn!” Jocelyn cuts in, before their bickering can eat up any more of her time. “Ray, I think you’re up?”</p><p>Ronnie tunes them out, glancing down at her phone again. Vanessa’s texts have started to slow down as it’s gotten later. Ronnie wonders if she’s in bed already. It would be a good night to turn in early, if she had anywhere to turn in.</p><p>Ronnie tunes out the next few rounds, and when she looks up again, the game has made its way back around to the Rose-Brewer-Budd trio. It’s Patrick’s turn at the board, and it seems like they’re having about as much luck guessing as they had the first time around.</p><p>“Seriously, I don’t…” David mutters in frustration at the two stick figures on the board with their little stick arms outstretched. There are little lightning bolts hovering over one of the arms, and Patrick emphatically taps the chalk on the board while his teammates look baffled. Ronnie furls her eyebrows at the drawing, and then, out of nowhere, she says, “Slap on the wrist.”</p><p>“Yes!” Patrick cries, looking down at the card again and frantically starting a new drawing. A square, with several dashes leading to an S-shaped line connected to what looks like a needle.</p><p>“Sewing.”</p><p>
  <em> “Yes!” </em>
</p><p>Another stick figure, with a wavy sort of rectangle attached to its back. “Cape.”</p><p>“Yes, Ronnie!”</p><p>David and Stevie are staring at them, slack-jawed. Ronnie ignores them and manages to rack up another three points before Twyla calls time.</p><p>“Ronnie! That was very impressive!” Jocelyn says, her smile just a little more strained than Ronnie would like. David stops pouting long enough to take a sip of his drink along with Stevie and Patrick. “Especially since you told me that you didn’t want to play when I suggested the game.”</p><p>Ronnie shrugs. “Guess I’m playing now.”</p><p>“Great!” Jocelyn says, her put-out expression suggesting otherwise. “So glad you finally decided to show some enthusiasm. Do you want to maybe join your team on the other side?”</p><p>Ronnie glances over at the trio of delinquents she’s apparently hitched herself to. “I’m good where I am.”</p><p>“Okay. Whatever you want.” Jocelyn gives her one final clenched-jaw smile, like she’s taking this whole situation very, very personally.</p><p>“Mm-hmm,” Ronnie murmurs, sipping her beer and ignoring the passive-aggression. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“So, that was…” Patrick trails off, apparently unable to find the right word. David just waves a hand at him.</p><p>“I don’t think we need a whole post-mortem right now.” His glass is empty, and he knows another cocktail probably isn’t a good idea, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a <em> bad </em> one, either.</p><p>“No, agreed,” Patrick says, a little too quickly. His glass is also close to empty, and he twirls the remains of his drink before he adds, “But maybe we should take Pictionary out of the mix for now?”</p><p>“Yes.” David nods emphatically. “Yes, that should absolutely happen.”</p><p>“At least we won,” Stevie points out, holding up her own glass in a toast. David and Patrick reluctantly clink their glasses against hers, even though they don’t look happy about it.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It’s getting close to midnight, and the storm outside has only gotten worse. Patrick sighs as he watches from the window.</p><p>Inside the Café, the mood isn’t much better. The round of Pictionary had provided some much-needed distraction, even if it hadn’t been met with the enthusiasm Jocelyn had obviously wanted. Now, though, people have drifted back to their own groups (except for Bob, who’s still trying to drift closer to Gwen), and tensions are starting to rise with the late hour.</p><p>David is still nursing some frustrations from the game, and Stevie’s needling doesn’t seem to be helping. Ronnie has gone back to ignoring him, Twyla is busy trying to make sure everyone has what they need, and Patrick’s already gone over Ray’s latest business venture twice (meal delivery kits, minus the delivery) and can’t have that same conversation again. There’s nothing to distract him now from watching the snow come down and worrying about the state of their cottage. This is the first major storm since they’ve moved in, and the fact that he’s not even there to keep an eye on things is driving him a little crazy. He would have already gone out and shoveled the driveway once by now, a first pass just so he would be in it up to his knees later. It’s a habit he’d picked up from his dad, who - like Patrick - was always thinking two or three steps ahead of where he actually was.</p><p>“Can you even see anything out there?” David says, coming up behind him. It’s noticeably colder next to the glass, and he shivers, crossing his arms against the chill.</p><p>Patrick shrugs. “Just keeping an eye on things, I guess.”</p><p>“Things? What things?” David flaps a hand at the window. “What do you expect to do from here?”</p><p>Patrick clenches his jaw. “Nothing, David. That’s kind of the problem.”</p><p>“Is there a problem?” David’s voice is starting to go up in pitch, the way it does when he’s getting ready to really work himself up. “Other than the obvious, which is being stuck in a sub-par eating establishment with a bunch of restless townies?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, is that not enough of an problem for you?” Patrick’s voice is sharper than he’d intended; the stress of being away from home combined with the frustration of being in a situation he has absolutely no control over while simultaneously trying to head off David’s histrionics is causing his temper to rise. And David definitely hears it, if the look on his face is anything to go by.</p><p>Patrick really doesn’t want to start a fight, but before he can take it back, or say something to smooth it out, David snaps, “Okay, it’s not my fault we’re stuck here, so I’m not sure the tone was necessary.”</p><p>“Oh really? Who’s idea was it to stop for dinner tonight instead of going straight home?”</p><p>David looks surprised, then hurt, then pissed. “One, we do this almost every Friday, and it’s not like you were complaining when I suggested it earlier, so stop acting like I took you hostage. And two, I don’t control the weather! In fact, it’s <em> your </em> job to keep an eye on that sort of thing!”</p><p>“Oh, it’s my <em> job?” </em> Patrick’s hackles are all the way up now. “What am I, your intern?”</p><p>“What has gotten into you?” David snaps. “Is it the cocktails that are making you this pissy?”</p><p>“If I’m <em> pissy, </em> it’s because I’m stuck here in the middle of a blizzard, thinking of our house and all the things that could go wrong since I’m not there to actually handle any of it!”</p><p>David rears his head back. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with the house?”</p><p>“I have no idea, since I’m not actually there right now.”</p><p>They glare at each other for a moment. Outside the window, the snow continues to swirl. Patrick feels like it’s mocking him.</p><p>David looks like he’s about to say something in response, but before he gets a chance, all the lights in the Café go out.</p><p>“Don’t say anything,” Patrick says.</p><p>“Wasn’t going to,” David mutters.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Patrick has gone off with Twyla to look for more candles, leaving Stevie to manage a thoroughly disgruntled David all on her own.</p><p>“Gonna get pretty cold in here,” she says, and David looks up from where he’s been scowling into a cup of coffee he very much does not need. The tiny tea light Twyla had dropped off at their table flickers in between them.</p><p>“I’m sorry, is that supposed to make me feel better?”</p><p>“No,” Stevie replies, “but in my defense, I wasn’t really trying to make you feel better.”</p><p>David rolls his eyes. “Mhm, great, thank you for your help.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re welcome.” When he doesn’t respond, she kicks him under the table. “Stop sulking.”</p><p>“I’m not sulking,” David says. “I’m in distress.”</p><p>Stevie nods. “That must be really difficult for you.”</p><p>“It is, and if you were any sort of friend to me, you would be a lot more sensitive to my needs right now.”</p><p>“Speaking of needs, have you tried talking to your husband?”</p><p>David glares at her. “Who said he has anything to do with it?”</p><p>“Nobody, I’m just basing it off the very public snit fit the two of you had just before the power went out.”</p><p>“You make it sound like that’s our fault.”</p><p>“Negative energy can be very powerful.” When David doesn’t respond, Stevie rolls her eyes. “Seriously, go talk to him. I can feel the waves of angst coming off of you from across the table.”</p><p>“Why should I? <em> He’s </em> the one who snapped at <em> me.” </em></p><p>“And your response was very level-headed and mature and in no way escalated in the situation.”</p><p>“Are you saying I should be the one to apologize when he started it?”</p><p>“I’m saying that being tired and drinking makes you both stupid, and also that you both handle stress in different but equally terrible ways, and I just decided that I’m not taking sides, so you’ll just have to handle your bullshit yourself.”</p><p>“Fine,” David snaps.</p><p>“Fine,” Stevie snaps back.</p><p>After a second, David tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “Ugh. Can I please not fight with you, too? I can’t handle this level of personal stress.”</p><p>“You can’t handle any level of personal stress,” Stevie says, but she nudges his foot under the table. After a second, he nudges her back.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Ronnie,” Patrick says, and Ronnie looks up from where she’s been sitting at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee next to an old camping lantern. “I found some extra batteries, in case you need them.”</p><p>Ronnie raises an eyebrow at the handful of D batteries Patrick’s just put down. “How long are you expecting to be stuck here?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Ronnie, I’m just trying to help.” Patrick sighs, looking around. “Have you seen Twyla?”</p><p>Ronnie gestures over to where Twyla’s sitting next to David, huddled over something he’s showing her on his phone. Patrick sighs again. “Perfect.”</p><p>“Trouble in paradise?” Ronnie guesses. </p><p>Patrick rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It’s just an argument, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Oh I’m not,” Ronnie tells him, and Patrick snorts softly, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking away.</p><p>After a second, he says, “I don’t like being stuck here, that’s all.”</p><p>“Big plans for tonight?” Ronnie drawls.</p><p>Patrick scowls down at his shoes. “Maybe. Did <em> you </em>have plans for tonight?”</p><p>Ronnie shrugs. “I was supposed to have drinks with someone, but that’s not happening now, for obvious reasons. I guess some of us just handle these things better than others.” </p><p>Patrick ducks his head. Even in the dim lighting, Ronnie can tell that he’s blushing. </p><p>“No, no plans,” he admits after a moment. “Just wish we were home.”</p><p>“Nervous about the house?”</p><p>Patrick looks startled and wary all at once. Ronnie shrugs. “Small space. Voices carry.”</p><p>“Yeah. I guess they do.” Ronnie can see him clench and unclench his jaw. “I just don’t like not being there right now, you know? And I don’t like getting caught off-guard, so I’m...maybe not handling it as well as I should be.”</p><p>“Yeah, you don’t seem like the kind of guy who gets caught off-guard all that often,” Ronnie says. Patrick gives her a look.</p><p>“Are you saying I’m neurotic?”</p><p>“Nah. Your husband’s neurotic.” Ronnie shrugs. “You’re just overprepared.”</p><p>Patrick’s lips quirk into an almost-smile. “That sounds like a polite way of saying neurotic.”</p><p>Ronnie determinedly doesn’t smile back. “So what if it is.”</p><p>“For all the good it does me,” Patrick mutters, glancing over at David before looking out towards the snow again.</p><p>Ronnie watches him for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. That house was standing a long time before you two moved in. It’ll survive one night without you.”</p><p>Patrick considers this. “I guess you’re right.”</p><p>“I know I’m right.”</p><p>There’s a long pause, and then Patrick says, “Did we just have a nice moment?”</p><p>“We didn’t. And we’re not going to.” Ronnie gives him another look, and he takes the cue that the conversation is over. </p><p>“I should probably go talk to him,” Patrick mutters, and Ronnie nods, more to get rid of him than anything else. As he turns to leave, he says, “Sorry your night got ruined.”</p><p>Ronnie waves a hand at him. “There’ll be other nights.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>David glances up, giving Patrick a wary look. “Hey.”</p><p>Shoving his hands into his pockets, Patrick says, “Twyla, do you mind if I talk to David for a minute?”</p><p>“Sure!” Twyla smiles as she slides out of the booth so he can take her place. “I should go check on the freezer anyway.”</p><p>They all watch her go, and then Patrick turns to Stevie, who’s still sitting in the booth. When she doesn’t get up, Patrick clears his throat. “Stevie?”</p><p>She looks between them and shrugs. “I can take a hint.” Grabbing her coat as she slides out of the booth, she calls, “Hey, Ray! How’s it going with Blue Ray-pron?”</p><p>Once she’s gone, David turns back to Patrick, who’s taken Stevie’s seat across from him, and says, “Are we talking again?”</p><p>Patrick accepts the jab. “Only if that’s something you’d be interested in.”</p><p>David shrugs, playing with the rings on his right hand. The gold glints in the candlelight. “I suppose I could be amenable to that.”</p><p>“Good.” Patrick nods. “Because I’d really love to apologize for losing my temper earlier, and that would be hard to do if you weren’t talking to me.”</p><p>“Mm. Sounds like a real predicament.” He glances up. “Lucky for you, I am a reasonable person.”</p><p>“That is lucky.” Patrick chuckles softly. After a second, he reaches across the table to where David’s fingers are still twitching, taking his hand. “I really am sorry.”</p><p>David closes his eyes and nods. “I probably could have...handled everything better than I did. So I’m sorry, too.”</p><p>Patrick smiles, bringing David’s hand up to brush his lips against his knuckles.</p><p>They sit in silence for a moment, Patrick rubbing his thumb over the back of David’s fingers. The sound in the Café has grown more hushed, the howling of the wind outside more pronounced. Finally, David asks, “Are you really worried about the house?”</p><p>Patrick considers it. “Not really, not in the sense that I genuinely think something is going to happen.”</p><p>“Then why…?” David lets the question trail off, looking down at their hands still intertwined on the tabletop.</p><p>It takes him a moment to answer.</p><p>“I think it’s more like...if something did happen, I don’t like the idea that I wouldn’t be there to handle it.” Patrick glances up at him. “Does that make sense?”</p><p>David hums and nods. After a second, he pulls his hand away, only to come around the booth and slide in next to Patrick, pulling him in close. The warmth of his arms feels nice against the chill in the Café.</p><p>“If we were home,” David says, “and something did go wrong, like, <em> catastrophically wrong, </em> what would you do?”</p><p>Patrick blinks. “I don’t…”</p><p>“Okay.” David tilts his head back to think. “Let’s say...the roof collapses during the storm.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t think the roof is going to collapse, David.”</p><p>David rolls his eyes. “This is strictly hypothetical, I’m going to need you to just go with me here.”</p><p>The corner of Patrick’s mouth quirks up. “Sorry. Continue.”</p><p><em> “Thank you.” </em> David takes a breath. “Okay. We’re home, it’s snowing, the roof caves in. In that moment, what would you do?”</p><p>Patrick thinks about it, really thinks. The truth is, he can’t come up with a single practical option, and David seems to be able to tell. He gives a helpless little shrug, and David’s arm tightens around his shoulders.</p><p>“It kind of seems like we’d be in basically the same spot we’re in right now?” David says softly. “Or worse, if you think about it, since now we're stuck in a house that doesn’t have a roof in the middle of a snowstorm, and at least in here we’re <em> somewhat </em> protected from the elements.”</p><p>“Okay, but that’s the worst-case scenario, David,” Patrick can’t help but point out, to his husband’s groan. “I don’t actually think the roof is going to cave in, but what if a pipe burst, or a window got broken?”</p><p>“What if they did?” David counters. “What are you going to do, try to fix a window during a blizzard in the middle of the night? Because that would be very impressive, but also very dangerous. And it’s not like we just have a room full of spare windows that we can just pop in if we need to.”</p><p>“Alright, point taken,” Patrick grumbles, but there’s no heat to it. He nestles into David’s side, laying his head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week.”</p><p>“It has,” David agrees. “And if it makes you feel any better, I would very much rather be at home in bed with you, too.”</p><p>"Well, at least we can suffer together.” Patrick tilts his head up, and David takes his cue to lean down and kiss him, his lips curved into a smile at the gentle press of Patrick’s mouth to his. Just as the kiss starts to deepen, David pulls back to stifle a yawn. Patrick laughs softly. “Thank you for that ringing endorsement.”</p><p>“Please, like that had anything to do with you.” David waves him off. “You’re not the only one who had a long week.”</p><p>“I know. Come here.” There’s not enough room for them to stretch out on the bench together, but Patrick manages to wedge himself into the corner as best he can, pulling David back against his chest. He can feel his jacket wadded up in the small of his back, and he leans forward just enough to pull it free so he can drape it over David’s chest. David leans back against him, covering his body with his own.</p><p>“Your neck is going to be sore if you stay like that,” David says as he pulls the coat up to his chin.</p><p>“Oh, probably,” Patrick agrees, pressing his nose into David’s hair with a yawn of his own. He laughs again. When David tilts his head back to give him a questioning look he just shakes his head. “We got all those wool throws in at the store this morning, too.”</p><p>David groans. “Oh my God, I was <em> just </em> thinking about that.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The power comes back shortly before dawn. David blinks awake in the harsh sudden light, feeling Patrick stir behind him. Across the table, Stevie groans where she’d jammed herself into the bench sometime after he’d dozed off, rubbing a fist into her eyes before lifting her head over the back of the seat and saying, “Hey, it’s not snowing anymore.”</p><p>Both he and Patrick sit up, the coat that had been covering him flopping into his lap. Outside, the sky is leaden and overcast, but the snow has indeed stopped. Everything is quiet and still, awash in the grey pre-dawn light. Patrick squeezes his hand and says, “Looks like we’ll be getting out of here soon.”</p><p>“Not soon enough,” David says, but it’s less snippy than it would have been before, tempered by relief at finally (hopefully) being able to go home.</p><p>That relief is diminished somewhat when Bob pushes himself up from the table where he’d been sleeping with his head in his folded arms not five minutes before. “Well, guess those roads aren’t going to plow themselves!”</p><p>“Oh God,” David mutters, but Patrick kisses that spot just below his ear and murmurs, “It’ll be fine.”</p><p>Bob pauses by the door where the Jazzagals are still encamped in their corner. Everyone holds their breath, expecting some kind of grand, excruciating romantic gesture, but he just zips his coat up and says, “Want a ride, Jocelyn? I was going to swing by your house and see if Roland can help. He’s got that truck, you know.”</p><p>“That would be great, Bob, thanks.” Jocelyn’s smile is tired but genuine this time as she gathers her things. On her way out, she says, “Gals, take the weekend off. I think we earned it.”</p><p>“Thanks?” Lena says, and after the door shuts Gwen mutters, “I didn’t think we had rehearsal this weekend.”</p><p>All around them, people are waking up, gathering their things, preparing for the moment when it will actually be safe to leave. Twyla is bustling behind the counter to get another pot of coffee going. Patrick stretches and something pops, making them all wince.</p><p>“How’s your neck?” David says, and Patrick shakes his head.</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>“Mm, it sounds fine.” Glancing outside to where he can already see Bob’s truck moving slowly down the street, he says, “You know, I think we got more of those heating pads in this week, the ones with the rice and the essential oils? Maybe we should stop by the store and grab one on the way out.”</p><p>“Those are a little expensive to damage out, David,” Patrick points out, but David just rolls his eyes and says, “It’s my treat, then. I can’t stand seeing you in pain all day, especially with all the shoveling you’ll have to do when we get home.”</p><p>“Oh, am I doing all the shoveling?” Patrick grins. “I thought you were going to volunteer, since I’m the one with the bad neck from letting you sleep on me.”</p><p>“Mm, and I absolutely would, it’s just that none of my shoes are waterproof and my feet are <em> so </em> much bigger than yours…”</p><p>“They’re not that big,” Patrick says. “But fine, fair enough. I’ll take care of the driveway if you make me lunch.”</p><p>“I can make you soup out of a can.”</p><p>“Deal.” Patrick leans down and kisses him.</p><p>Stevie makes a gagging sound. “I wish I still had my drink.”</p><p>Patrick grins. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee instead."</p><p>"Coffee's on the house," Twyla cuts in as she drops off three mugs and move on to the next table.</p><p>David watches her go. "How can she possibly have that much energy right now?"</p><p>"Not having any of those cocktails last night probably helped." Patrick winces and starts to reach for one of the coffees, but David intercepts his hand, grabbing the mug with the English Breakfast string dangling down the side that Patrick had obviously missed. Patrick gives him a grateful smile and blows on it gently before taking a careful sip.</p><p>"Well, we survived," Stevie says as she picks up her own mug. David looks behind her, to where the sun is already starting to break through the clouds. Main Street is quiet and calm, a strange sight after the fury of last night's storm. Everything is coated in a thick, even blanket of white. For a second, it's almost peaceful.</p><p>The moment is broken when Twyla sweeps by to drop off the milk and sugar she'd forgotten earlier. David can hear the telltale signs of activity coming from the kitchen. All around them, people are getting up, stretching, opening menus and talking about breakfast. It won't be long before they're all shuffling out the door, back to their homes and their jobs and whatever else they have going on outside the Café walls. David feels - for just a second - a weird pang, deep down inside, like a spell has been broken. (Which is ridiculous, obviously, since all he's wanted almost since they sat down last night was to go home.) He glances at Patrick, who gives him a knowing little smile but doesn't say anything as he sips his tea.</p><p>"It was a weird night," David finally says, for lack of anything else.</p><p>"One for the ages," Patrick agrees.</p><p>"May we never forget it," Stevie chimes in.</p><p>"Okay, let's not go that far," David says with a grimace, but after a second he says, "I guess it could have been worse."</p><p>Patrick raises his mug. "To things not being worse."</p><p>"I'll drink to that," Stevie says, as they clink their mugs together.</p><p>Maybe David is crazy, but the coffee actually tastes pretty good today.</p>
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